


Your lips are venomous, poison

by KAD4994



Series: Crack Fics [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Crack, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Oblivious, Polyjuice Potion, Post-Hogwarts, Scheming, diary entries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAD4994/pseuds/KAD4994
Summary: The resurfacing of some hidden journals lead Draco to attempt drastic measures. He’d do anything to stop his rival (read crush) from finding out the truth.





	Your lips are venomous, poison

Your lips are venomous poison

 

Prologue: 

In the regal and rather foreboding abode known as Malfoy Manor, there was in existence three leather bound journals. These had been hidden within the walls of a childhood bedroom, securely encased at the back of an ornate dresser. This collection, unlike most of the other tomes contained within the house, did not hold dark magic or vile poison recipes. Instead, these leather bound journals held something much more powerful. They held the inner rumination of Draco Malfoy’s adolescent heart, his most personal and abhorrent secrets. This may not seem like a lot just now, however these mere books held the key to set in motion a life changing event for not just Draco Malfoy, but for Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World. These mere books were about to bring chaos and pandemonium to their usually calm and consistent world.

 

 

 

Chapter 1:

 

Stupid Potter with his stupid hair and scar. It was almost like a reflex to utter those words in my mind whenever I came into contact with him. Unfortunately (or fortunately my traitorous brain corrected), this was a frequent occurrence, my job as a curse breaker made it inevitable that I would liaise with the chosen git and his merry band of irksome aurors all too often.

“So what do we have?” The orange one uncouthly asked, pointing at the box I had within a protective shield, whilst simultaneously eating a burnt flapjack. Shudders. The weasel honestly had the manners of a boorish troll, but apparently I was unable to mention it without facing disciplinary consequences. Again.

I settled for sneering imperiously. “This is me solving your case for you.” 

That got his attention quickly and Potter snapped upright, his emerald eyes flashing jarringly against mine. I resolutely ignored the thrum of my pulse, nor did I notice the way his broad shoulders filled out his Auror robes impressively. It just wasn’t fair I wailed internally. 

“Show us.” He came to my side and I fought valiantly not to sink into his delicious warmth. He must have clocked my glare as he edged a little away from me and my waspish demeanour. Good.

“Well Potty.. “ I smirked at the anger in his eyes, baiting him was the only way I was able to get my kicks after all. “I was able to use my brain, (unlike some), and when I unravelled the curse I was able to identify the magical signature of the creator.”

“And…?” The Weasel impatiently interrupted, though I ignored him, my eyes could only focus on the brunette before me.

“The creator appears to be Garret Rockwood. Why he decided to put the Medusa curse on this old trinket baffles me, then again Rockwood was never entirely all there.” I sniffed, determined not to let the other Aurors’ muttering of death eaters and my alleged ties to those berks, affect me in any way. I really must have been slipping as Potter’s face directed his saintly concern in my direction.

“Great. We will get a team on Rockwood now.” The brunette sprung into action, and just like that I was dismissed.

This action did not of course bother me in the slightest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2:

 

“Draco dear, are you ever going to cease prattling on about Harry Potter?” My mother’s calm censure broke through my eloquent tirade. 

“I’m merely pointing out how unfair it is. I did all the work in breaking that curse and he brushed me off so he can play hero risking life and limb capturing Rockwood.” I kept my tone stiff and only a slight amount of petulance crept into my voice. Still, it was enough to betray my feelings to my mother, shrewd woman that she was.

“I see.” She sipped her tea demurely with a barely concealed smile on her face. “You seem rather concerned that Potter will be risking life and limb. Any reason why?”

Merlin. I had to save face here, even if it was only my mother. No one could know how I felt (shudders) about him. No one. It would destroy me. Clearly it was time to act blasé.

“I have had enough of talking about him Mother. Tell me, what is going on around here?” That was clearly a smooth subject change I chastised myself, though in fact I was curious about the state of the front parlour that I had walked through to greet mother for our weekly tea session. Furniture, books and other miscellaneous items cluttered the normally pristine floor. It had puzzled me for a while, before my mind had become distracted, for some reason.

“Oh. I’ve decided to host a charity auction of some stuff that had been laying around. Since your father’s passing,” I winced with pain at her reference to his death that had occurred the past year during his stint in prison, “I felt that it was time to have a fresh beginning, whilst also donating to charity.”

 

“Makes sense.” I nodded sagely. It could only be a good thing to renew and revitalise the Malfoy name after its unfortunate brush with the stickier side of the war. It had only been six years and people had long memories.

I was cut from my reverie into the painful past by my mother’s cultured voice. “Draco? Is there anything you’re wanting to keep? I was going to look in your old play room for donations also. If there’s anything of significance I will keep it aside.”

It was easy to shake my head mutely, the once golden memories of youth had been permanently tarnished by the vile parasite that had taken up residence here. Nothing could hold sentiment after that and I was more than comfortable in my spacious if homely flat with the trinkets I had built up by myself following the end of the war. 

It was unfortunate that I did not then realise that whilst some things may no longer hold sentimentality in my play room, there were things that held value. Or cost. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3:

 

Sometimes I wondered if it would be easier to just AK myself and get all the suffering over with. If I had to listen to another round of the Weasel’s boastful drivel it would be seriously tempting.

“Seriously mate, I can’t believe how mental it got. When Rockwood used the Fimoriri… bloody hell… good job you’ve got quick reflexes Harry…” The odious one, carried on regardless of my pointed entrance into the Auror filled pit. I ignored the jolt of happiness I felt at seeing that Potter was safe and sound, if a little tired.

“Yes, yes. Potty here is amazing, no need to wet yourself with excitement Weasley.” I smirked at both their aghast faces. Success! 

“Stop being a prat Malfoy.” Came only Potter’s tired response and I fought down the swell of dismay. Seriously? I needed more of a reaction from him.

“Prat? Really Potter? Resorting to childish insults after I helped you with your case.” 

The only response I got was a beleaguered sigh and a roll of his eyes. Merlin help me! This was harder than it used to be. 

“Any idea why he’s still here Harry?” The Weasel interrupted my seething with a pointed look in my direction. I barely resisted the urge to stick out my tongue; only the fact that such behaviour was highly unbecoming for a Malfoy heir.

“I was merely checking that you hadn’t screwed up the lead I gave you on Rockwood.” I sniffed, injecting as much disdain as I could into my tone. Taking the duos’ gormless expressions as my cue to leave, I swept towards my office, my figure undoubtedly impressive.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4:

 

“Yes, yes. I’m glad the charity event went well…” I found myself uttering to my mother a week later during our tea session. I was a little preoccupied, Granger had been giving me odd looks for the past few days and I had no clue why. She couldn’t know my secret, could she? I reassured myself that even if she was supposedly the brightest witch of our generation, she would have no cause to suspect my feelings for Potter were anything but hatred and mocking derision. 

“Oh Draco, there was such a fantastic turnout.. it’s a pity that you couldn’t make it…” 

My mother carried on pointedly and I pulled my best loving and contrite son expression at her words, though I felt no remorse in using work as an excuse to get out of the repugnant affair. Morally decrepit individuals with too much money rubbing elbows in self-congratulations were not my idea of good company

“….Why we even had Minister Shacklebolt and Harry Potter turn up.. I was pleasantly surprised and thankful I’d ordered enough petite fours.” I let her voice wash over me until the words registered. The one name guaranteed to get me to pay attention was Potter and judging by mother’s smirk and knowing glint, she was fully aware of that fact.

Aiming for casual, I raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Did the gentlemen find anything worthy to bid on?”

“Oh a few things. Potter bought a frankly ghastly lamp, don’t tell him I said that dear, and your chest of drawers from your play room.”

I was bemused at the fact that Potter now owned my chest of drawers. That was until it hit me. A wave of panic overthrew me as I recalled what exactly was in those chest of drawers. My school journals, filled with angst riddled confessions and self-loathing devotion to the very scar head that possessed them. Merlin, I had waxed as pathetically as a hufflepuff about the fiend.

Not to worry, I reassured myself, I had been Slytherin enough to have warded the journals and had hidden them in a panel. Still, Granger could probably break through them with some ease. Merlin. If they found them I would be toast. I could picture the weasel having the time of his life, erupting into hysterics at my expense. Oh the sanctimonious smiles of Granger and worse still the knowing looks of Potter and his pity. I would die of shame. If these got discovered, I would certainly combust with mortification. Before I could work myself up into a true frenzy, my mother laid her cool hand on my forehead.

“Dear, you seem unwell. Would you like a potion?” Her concern gave me the strength I needed to flash a weak smile.

“I’m fine mother, probably just tired. I’m going to head home.”

My mother pacified, I took my leave, my head swimming with schemes to get the journals back with my dignity intact. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5:

 

Foolproof plans to getting my journals back

 

1\. Learning how to become an animagus very quickly so that I can sneak in and steal the journals.  
2\. Pretend to be a delivery guy and somehow get invited in.  
3\. Become animal master and train ants to infiltrate Potter’s house and get my books back.

Really? With all the Slytherin cunning I possessed, these were the only plans I could come up with? Salazar must be rolling over in his grave at my poor attempts at scheming. Still, I was desperate and it needed only a small chance to prevent my annihilation for it to be considered a viable plan.

It was only a few hours later when I remembered why I hadn’t become an animagus before. It was damn near impossible for me to shut off my mind to concentrate on my animal form, especially with the Potter thing breathing down my neck. Merlin. I almost cried with frustration. Only the impending doom of my most cringeworthy secret kept me trying and trying. Stupid stupid stupid. There was nothing I could do! If only I had access to Potter’s bedroom (wishful thinking my mind reluctantly added); but that was highly unlikely. Potter was more likely to have tea with the Muggle prime minister than invite me, Draco Malfoy, around to his house.

And just like that, my masterful idea came to me. It was easy to grin gleefully (privately of course as a Malfoy was not to appear to be overtly happy in public) when I had the brilliant solution to saving my admittedly fine arse from humiliation and subsequently death by mortification. Sure, Potter wouldn’t invite me into his abode, but he would invite perhaps one of us his odious friends. But where would I find one of his insipid buddies foolish enough to be tricked/coerced/confounded into allowing me to disguise myself as them? A shudder ran through me as I realised I might have just the person. 

 

 

 

Chapter 6:

It was only my steel resolution that kept me haphazardly lumbering into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a few days later. The boorish brutes lauded as ‘Aurors’, Wizarding’s finest protectors did little to hide their completely unsubtle and highly inappropriate sniggering. Sure, I was wearing an oafish body, startlingly easy to procure, but I would expect more decorum within such an esteemed office…

…. “You been out with Finnegan again, Weasely? Looks like you’ve overdone it with the whiskey again!” A particularly loutish ‘dirty’ - blonde yelled in my direction to the obvious, judging by the guffaws and snickering, amusement of his colleagues. I tamped down on the urge to hex the bloke a new anal passageway, barely, and simply gave them a disrespectful salute with my fingers. It was hardly my fault that I couldn’t walk with my natural poise and grace. The buffoon’s body that I was currently modelling was much taller than mine. All gangily arms and overstretched torso, it was a wonder that the orange one managed to remain upright at all!

Given that I was currently adopting the Weasel’s personality, I aimed to clear my face of its charming aristocratic smirk and pushed his lips into a beatific grin. There, that was better, even Potter would not be able to tell the difference between me and his bosom pal now. Shudders. Being mistaken for the Weasel was never going to feature on my top moments, but needs must.

It had been worryingly simple to temporarily incapacitate the Weasel, given how close he was to the saviour. A handy misdirection charm here, a deft hand with potions there, thrown in with an impressively strong stunning by yours truly, an empty apartment and magically tightening ropes and you had a captured Auror, free to take as much hair to add to polyjuice potion as you need. Not that it was any picnic to consume the essence of weasel hourly, but there you go. 

My clumsy gait took me to my intended target and I was treated with a smile thrown my way. Momentarily taken aback until I recalled that Potter though I was Weasley, I attempted a slight smile again. It seemed to have worked as Potter just nodded in my direction before returning to the case file on his remarkably cluttered desk.

“What do you have there?” I asked politely, staggering to the other chair in the cubicle. I figured I had to try some form of speech, the silence was sure to turn awkward otherwise. 

Green eyes met mine as he looked up sharply to answer my question. Was he always this intense? “Just the McGuffin case, I’ve got to write up the notes.” 

“Oh right.” I croaked, feeling a flush rise to my neck when he continued to gaze at me. I needed to appear more ‘Weasley ish’ as I was blowing my cover. “Read any good books lately?” There that was a friendly conversation starter. 

Sadly Potter just stared at me dumbfounded, damn I guess I had overestimated the orange one’s ability to read. Thinking fast I tried to think what a boorish idiot would do in the situation and belched loudly. 

“Are you okay mate? Did you go out with Seamus again?” The brunette looked at me with concern furrowed in his brows. 

“Oh yes, I’m as right as rain, absolutely spiffing Pot – Harry.” I smiled zanily to cover up my babbling nerves. At this rate, Potter was going to have me sent to St Mungos before I had chance to invite myself over to his. Think Draco! Think! I chided myself internally. I racked my brains for something I knew the Weasel would talk about and managed to recall the garish orange coloured T-shirt he sometimes wore under his cloak, adorned with the slogan of the abysmal Chudley Canons. Frantically grasping at the sole straw of my knowledge of the Weasel’s hobbies, I commented on the team’s current chance of success in the league. 

This seemed to stave off Potter’s suspicion and he relaxed a fraction, allowing us to have a tentatively pleasant conversation while getting on with our paper work. Well, Potter filled his in, I mainly pretended as I had no clue how their filing system operates, but I figured that was fine as Weasley seemed to be bone idle. I was thankful that I had appeared to have chosen a slow day, I was pretty sure the Weasel’s wand wouldn’t work well for me if I had to do field work and I couldn’t exactly use my own. Potter would recognise it in a heartbeat. 

It was sometime later when I had a stroke of good fortune. For the past hour I had been trying to work out a way to get invited back to Potter’s place like a fumbling teenager asking for a date, to no avail. It was then that Potter asked if I was still on for tonight.

“On for tonight?” I looked at him blankly, a usual look for the orange one by my account.

“Yeah, remember you said you would come over and hang while Hermione is at her conference on House-elf rights.” 

I strove for a blasé nod in confirmation, as though I had known all about these plans and Granger’s conference. Sadly, in my inner glee at being closer to victory did I miss the calculating look Potter had flung my way. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7:

Potter side alonged me to his abode, for which I was grateful as I had naively failed to consider how I would have apparated to his house. Weasley’s wand was limited in my hands and I was unsure whether the wards would allow me passage. Mercifully, Potter seemed to believe I was feeling hungover from my apparent drinking problem with Finnegan and had kept his warm arm on mine in support. 

I tried to keep the surprise from my face as I looked around the tastefully decorated living room that I found myself in. Obviously the Weasel would have visited many of times so I could not paw through Potter’s belongings with fascination. 

My novelty must have shown as Potter crouched down suddenly to pick up the wooden train set currently littering his pale cream rug that adorned the floor before a rustic fireplace, and place the pieces in the wooden wicker basket atop of a beige quilted sofa. 

Abashed he muttered, “Teddy.” Then he plonked himself down on the spacious sofa cushion. Realising that no offer of beverage or invitation to sit was forthcoming, I followed suit unceremoniously sinking into the soft texture.  
“So, how’s Hermione been?” Harry asked me with fondness in his green eyes. I tried to formulate a response that would past muster in Weasley speak.

“Usual mate. She’s reading books and knitting,” I said, struggling to recall things Granger had gotten up to at Hogwarts. 

“Ah okay.” Potter nodded sagely seemingly satisfied with my answer, before continuing; “What do you think Draco is up to?”

“What?!” I squeaked, unable to stop the outburst escape my lips. “Draco?” I was flabbergasted that the chosen one had deigned to refer to me by my first name, let alone bring me up in conversation. 

“Yeah, you know Malfoy. Exceedingly talented blonde git.”

“Erm.. What?” My mouth dropped open in bewilderment, I was positive it was a ghastly look on the Weasel’s face.

Potter rolled his eyes, “You already know how I feel about him, yet you always act surprised when I compliment him.” 

“Feel about him?” I stuttered. I was actually surprised I was able to be coherent at this point.

A huff escaped the dark haired man’s quirked lips. “Honestly, I’ve no idea why you’re playing dumb Ron. You seemed pretty freaked out considering it was your idea.”

The exasperated tone in Potter’s voice made me grow concerned once more that I was not fooling him. Though it was hard to comprehend this revelation that Potter apparently conversed about me and even complimented me to his friends, I still had a mission, and I could not risk it being foiled.

“Um. Can I use your bathroom?” I heard myself say, realising that I would need an excuse to go upstairs and rifle through the chosen one’s drawers. 

“Of course mate, you know where it is.” Potter said blithely, relaxing further into his seat, strong muscles rippling as he stretched out.

I nodded nervously and turned to the door that hopefully led to the stairs. Dashing up the stairs in my uncomfortably tall body, I reached the landing, hoping to stealthily peer behind the doors to see which one had my old chest of drawers within.  
The second attempt was the correct one, the first being the bathroom that I opened then shut to hopefully fool Potter. It was easy to identify the room as Potter’s, cluttered but homey with an array of Wizarding photographs decking the walls. A heaped laundry basket contained his spare set of Auror robes along with countless tatty jeans and dark muggle tops with unknown slogans printed upon them. 

I skimmed my attention over the unmade double bed, lest my thoughts wandered, and saw that my chest of drawers was in the corner of the room with an odd looking box sat upon it that had some sort of wires leading out of it.

Knowing that I wouldn’t have too long to grab my journals, I carefully opened the drawer with the secret compartment hidden inside. Thankful for my abundant familiarity with the device, I was able to quickly open the locks with a well practiced incantation under my breath. There, to my relief, were my journals. Unopened and unread. I clasped them in my arms, sighing with happiness at my achievement, unaware of the figure that stood at the door pointing his wand at me.

I did not even see the flash that sent me toppling to the ground, my world banished into darkness.   
Chapter 8:

Groggily, I arose to consciousness, a dull ache in the back of my head. My eyes squinted painfully as they adjusted to the bright light and a quick scan of my surroundings revealed that I appeared to be tied to a surprisingly comfortable chair in a kitchen of sorts. 

Instinct drove me to tug at my bonds, to no avail, and all I was rewarded with was the irritation of rope burn for my effort. 

A cool voice broke the silence of the room and the frantic nature of my thoughts. “Who are you?” 

I remained silent. The jig was clearly up, hard to come back from being caught snooping. I surreptitiously glanced down at my hand, the abominable freckles were still there meaning the poly juice potion hadn’t worn off yet. Still, unless I could somehow get out of these increasingly tight bounds and overpower Potter, I was very much caught. Accepting my fate glumly, I decided to satisfy my curiosity instead. I was Slytherin enough to gain what I could, even out of a losing situation.

“How did you know I wasn’t Weasley?”

“A few things. To be honest, you should have done more research. Hermione doesn’t knit anymore, that was just a thing at Hogwarts to free the house-elves.” Potter sighed, “Also, Ron would never ask to go to the toilet.”

“Damn, my excellent manners.” I muttered under my breath. Clearly my undoing was my mother’s fault.

Potter stretched languidly in front of me, at ease with the fact I was essentially trapped. “So, are you ready to tell me who you are and why you’re impersonating my best mate?” 

A moment of silence hung in the kitchen, but Potter just shrugged at my lack of cooperation, “Well the polyjuice will wear off soon at any rate, you’ve been out a while.” He grabbed my coveted journals from the kitchen side and thrust them in front of my face. “Perhaps you’ll talk more about these? They seem to be encrypted. I’m curious as to why they were in my dresser?” 

I merely glared at him balefully and he just laughed at my expression. A sudden lurch of nausea roiled through my stomach, momentarily distracting me from my ire at the git. Helplessly I shuddered and a sheen of sweat glazed my forehead as I tried to pant through the gnawing pain of my insides. 

My face must have given away that the transformation was imminent as Potter chuckled to himself. “Yeah, coming back into yourself is a bitch, let’s see who you are.”

Shudders of blistering ice ran through me and I jerked within my confines, thrashing as I felt my skin morph and melt back into my flawless complexion. The roots of my hair were on fire as the monstrous ginger upended roughly to reveal my fine and feathery blonde. 

Enough of my features must have been revealed, as I heard Potter gasp, “Malfoy?! What are you doing here?”

Struggling to recover after the heinous ordeal of transforming back, I took a deep breath before smirking in my practised manner. “Well, you did tie me up to your kitchen chair Potter. I must say, I don’t usually partake in bondage till at least the third date.”

“What?!” Potter yelled, a furious red flush spreading from his cheeks and reaching his neck.

I smiled, “I lied. I’ll do bondage on the first date.”

Potter’s eyes widened and I couldn’t help my glee at having won a reaction out of him. Even bound and helpless, I was the master!

Sadly, the tables were turned once Potter recovered his cool. “So these books? What’s in them? Do I need to Floo Hermione to crack them?”

I gulped. Damn. If Granger cracked my books that would be miles worse, and I had to reluctantly admit that she probably could crack them. She’d definitely share it with the Weasel then and I’d be doomed to live my life mortally embarrassed. Plus, there was a chance I could appeal to the saviour’s hero complex and get him to not make a laughing stock of me. After all there was always a handy obliviate when his back was turned. 

Potter appeared to be waiting patiently whilst I weighed up the options in my head. Sighing, I closed my eyes and reluctantly uttered the required spell that released my journals and signalled my doom. 

Feeling my face flame red, I could just picture what Potter was reading right now of my innermost thoughts. Things like how I was worried about him in the Triwizard Tournament and how his defiance against Umbridge made me admire him. How I spent hours up a tree just so I could jump down and get him to notice me and how jealous of that wench Ginny I was when I saw them kiss in the grounds. It was utterly humiliating, all my feelings laid bare and I just wanted it to end.

“Malfoy, look at me.” Potter’s voice was gentle, evidently meant to soothe and reassure. I reluctantly met his gaze, feeling standoffish as my heart thrummed in my ears. “You broke in so that I wouldn’t find your school diaries in my dresser?”

“Yes. I didn’t want you to know how I feel…”

“Feel?” Breathed Potter, his face closer to mine than before so that I can see the small flecks of silver within the green of his iris. 

I flushed further with panic, “I meant felt!” This day was seriously getting worse and worse. I hadn’t realised it was torture Draco Malfoy day.

The Chosen Git had the audacity to smile at my suffering before saying, “I think you meant feel Draco, and I have to admit, I feel the same.”

“Really?” Shock ran through me as Potter moved closer to me, our lips a breath apart.

“Really.” He murmured against my lips before tentatively pulling me closer towards him with his hand tucked behind my head. Pushing the kiss onwards, I showed my appreciative response by flicking my tongue over his lips before gaining entry, revelling in the answering noise of approval. It was heady and my body sung with happiness as I continued my exploration of his mouth.

“Harry!” The door slammed open as a distressed male burst into the kitchen. “Malfoy kidnapped me! He left his evil plans on a list….”

“Ron!” Potter exclaimed at the sight of his dishevelled best friend and the gobsmacked expression covering his face. Damn, I needed better ropes.

A muscle unclenched in the Weasel’s jaw and he blinked rapidly. “Mate…forget I said anything… I’m just going to.. go.” He walked away hurriedly, dropping my masterplan list to the floor, muttering about ‘weird sex games’. 

The door slammed a few seconds later and Potter turned to me, picking up the list that I really should discarded. “We are going to have to talk about this.”

“Fine.” I sighed, “But shut up and kiss me.”


End file.
